The Red Cell André Gallo (essential reading .txt) 📖

They fired almost at the same time, but her bullets punched into the general’s body first, pushing him off balance. However, his first shot hit Kella causing her to fall sideways.

49. The Oval Office

“I hope this meeting is not too soon after your recovery, Kella,” President Tremaine said sitting with his back to a fireplace bookended by white Corinthian columns.

“Fortunately, Yosemani’s shot hit my Kevlar vest,” Kella replied from a white sofa perpendicular to the fireplace and the president’s massive wooden desk. “What’s another bruise?” she said with a rueful smile.

“I’m glad you’re taking it so lightly but I’m not surprised. You’re definitely my hero. However, I’m highly upset,” President Tremaine said, feigning insult. “Thérèse tells me you two got married. I thought we had an agreement that I was going to be invited.”

Marshall in his power chair next to the president grinned, as he and everyone else looked toward Steve and Kella, who sat together. Vice President Baxter occupied a brown leather armchair on the other side of the president.

“Mr. President,” Steve said, “We were taking care of business in Romania up to the day before the wedding. We really didn’t know for sure it was going to take place at all.”

“The wedding was in Paris,” Marshall said, “and neither my wife nor I attended, either. But we are planning to give our dynamic duo a reception, and you can be sure everyone in this room will be invited.” He navigated his power chair onto the oval gold rug that reflected the design of the ceiling and the earth tones of the wallpaper. He glanced at Frederick Remington’s “Bronco Buster” bronze statue his left and wondered if it had replaced the bust of Winston Churchill that Tremaine had returned to the British government in a fit of pique at Great Britain’s colonial past.

“What I don’t get,” Baxter said, “is how you had time to get married between capturing an Iranian hit team in Romania and stopping what would have been the worst terrorist attack since 9/11.”

“Steve and Kella’s original mission,” LaFont said from the other sofa, “was to capture the Quds Force commanding general while he was in Belgium. The order was rescinded, until he got too cocky and overplayed his hand by coming here.”

“That was not my decision, you understand,” Tremaine said. “That was Dalton. My decision to hire her was based on a positive background check. Obviously, that procedure needs to be fixed. What was her code name again?”

“The Nightingale, Sir,” Kella said. “She and General Yosemani were husband and wife.”

“Mr. President,” Baxter said, “It is my considered opinion infiltrating the senior White House staff and trying to destroy the Golden Gate Bridge, an American icon and a major economic pathway to a major urban center, are acts of war.”

Before Tremaine could react, LaFont leaned forward in her seat and spoke. “Events were moving so fast, sir, we did not have time to brief you fully on Yosemani’s total plan. He had also intended to bomb our headquarters building on the same day as the San Francisco attack.”

She looked toward Marshall, who picked it up from there. “The media will have the story tomorrow,” he said. “They will report two small explosions, one at the commuter bus stop inside the CIA compound, and another in the cafeteria. The number of casualties will be unknown as well as the terrorist group responsible for the attack.”

“What really happened?” Tremaine asked, looking at LaFont.

“We were able to monitor the planning for the attack through a double-agent operation. And this is the part of the story that can never become public. If it did become public, our agent’s life would be in danger, and we believe we can continue to run her against Iranian intelligence by allowing them to believe she was successful.”

“Deception can be a two-way street,” Tremaine said. “The Persians claim they invented chess. Maybe, but this time we checkmated them.”

“By the way, Mr. President,” LaFont said, “five of the seven survived, and one of them, who was living in California under deep cover, has asked for asylum if we can get his girlfriend over here, which is entirely doable.”

“Will this knowledge, as well as the intelligence that will come out of Yosemani’s interrogation, be useful during the negotiations you are about to have with the Iranians?” Steve asked.

“All acts of war!” Baxter said. “Instead of keeping everything secret, we should be publicizing these damnable acts of Iranian terrorism. And before then, we should fire a few dozen Tomahawk missiles against their Ministry of Intelligence or whoever the Quds Force works for. That’s what we should have done when they held our diplomats hostage for 444 days, when their Hizballah puppets blew up the Marine barracks and the American Embassy in Beirut, when their ally al Qaeda car-bombed Khobar Towers and sent a suicide boat against the U.S.S. Cole.”

“Tomahawk missiles would certainly teach them that attacking the United States has consequences,” Marshall said. “But in the short term, as Vice President Baxter’s ideas can be considered, we could expel Iranian intelligence officers and persuade our allies to do the same. If I can comment on the forthcoming negotiations, I would not be surprised if the Iranians suggested Iran and the United States should be allies rather than enemies in Syria, because we should be more concerned about the radical Muslim then about the al-Assad regime. And that’s probably an analysis shared by the Israelis.”

“If I understand our system correctly,” Tremaine said with a slight smile, “the CIA provides intelligence to support policymakers. Are you not crossing the line?”

“Expelling hostile intelligence officers,” LaFont said, “is a traditional method of dealing with a known internal threat. As far as Tomahawk missiles go, I agree. But that’s above my pay grade. Yosemani, by the way, may or may not recover from Kella’s marksmanship.